Chapter 3

Instead of answering, Bentlee came right up to me, dropped to one knee, and put his hand on my knee.

I instinctively tried to pull my leg away. "Let go," I demanded.

"You might not want my body, but you can't say no to my service," Bentlee teased.

Bentlee ignored my resistance and began to gently massage my knee with his fingers, slow and careful.

Bentlee moved so smoothly, like this was a routine he'd run a thousand times—it all seemed effortless, second nature to him.

Speaking in a low, steady tone, Bentlee said, "Rainy days are rough on your knees. Make sure you keep them warm, alright?"

I replied with a chill in my voice, "You sure act like you know everything."

Bentlee kept his focus, never glancing up as he continued to work on my knee; sometimes gentle, sometimes firm, he eased the soreness away bit by bit.

"I picked up a few tricks back then," Bentlee said, setting the bottle of essential oil on the table. "I came up with this for someone who meant a lot to me. It works pretty well, actually."

I glanced at him. "So why aren't you using these skills on that special someone instead of me?"

Bentlee finally looked up, his gaze calm but layered with emotion.

"She's only just now starting to get to know me," Bentlee said gently.

With that, Bentlee withdrew his hand and stood up. "If your knee starts bothering you again, Miss Anderson, just call me. I'll come help."

I reached out and gently brushed his cheek, my voice soft but with an undeniable edge of authority.

"Are you trying to please me?" I asked.

Bentlee smiled. "Since you're keeping me around, Miss Anderson, I ought to make myself useful. Wouldn't want you doing charity work for nothing."

I went quiet for a moment, my gaze landing on the bottle of oil he'd made himself.

Suddenly, I realized maybe keeping him around wasn't such a dumb idea after all.

Besides, he was nice to look at, actually knew how to look after someone, and hell, he was even more useful than I'd imagined.

After Bentlee left, my knee felt so much better.

I actually managed to get a good night's sleep for once.

When I woke up, the sun was already shining bright.

I called for Henry right away.

"The custom outfits I had Deacon make should be ready by now," I said, rubbing my knee, which felt much better. A small smile played on my lips. "Go ahead and deliver them to him."

Deacon Ramirez was the Anderson family's go-to designer. Every piece was handmade, a real status symbol.

Henry asked, "Mr. Graham hasn't been around in ages. Should I drop them off at his office?"

I frowned, a little displeased. "Henry, since I'm raising my own tree now, of course the good stuff goes to my people."

Henry nodded, effortlessly switching to the new name.

"I'll just deliver the clothes straight to Bentlee," Henry said.

"Good," I answered.

In the days that followed, I finally started to understand the happiness Caleb talked about with his whole "flower-raising" thing.

Bentlee never once said no to any pampering I gave him.

Whenever I sent him those custom-made outfits, he didn't waste a second—he put them on right there and strutted around, making sure I saw just how perfectly they fit and how much he adored them.

I thought he was a bit too scrawny, so I had the chef make all sorts of delicious dishes for him. Watching his cheeks fill out and his body grow stronger day by day gave me a real sense of pride.

Every time I showed Bentlee a little care or spoiled him with gifts, he never said no, nor did he ever put on airs.

Instead, he'd thank me each time like he really meant it, and always made it a point to show off just how much he adored whatever I gave him.

Everyone craved a little payoff in life.

It didn't matter if I was tending flowers or raising trees—it was all about getting something back.

Sometimes Bentlee would surprise me with portraits he'd drawn—me from every imaginable perspective, like I was the center of his whole world.

He also had this knack for cooking up all kinds of food for me, half the time I couldn't even name what I was eating, but weirdly enough, every single dish suited my taste perfectly.

Whenever gloomy weather was on the horizon, he'd always make sure to massage my knees in advance, so I never had to deal with any aches or pains.

Honestly, sometimes I wondered if Bentlee understood me better than I ever could.

That was a world apart from Caleb.

After all those years with Caleb, he never even realized I couldn't stand cilantro, or that rainy days always made my knees ache.

Getting a gift from him? Forget it. If I gave him something, he'd just take it and start rambling about how he's above all that, like doing me a favor.

It was like I was somehow in the wrong for trying to be kind, and he was perfectly entitled to just accept it without a second thought.

I wasn't about to waste my time on something that took so much effort and never paid off.

All that wild enthusiasm I used to waste on Caleb? Now, I give it all to Bentlee.

Whenever I treated Bentlee to a present, he would turn right around and find a way to send me two, or sometimes even more.

It didn't matter if his gifts were cheap or silly—they still kept me grinning for days.

It wasn't until the Anderson family's business party was just around the corner that Caleb suddenly remembered I even existed.

By the time he came looking for me, I'd nearly forgotten all about him.

He walked in with his adopted sister on his arm, the two of them acting like a couple—waltzing right into the Anderson estate as if they owned the whole place.